


Barefoot in the Snow

by owlmoose



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Holiday Cheer, F/M, Fluff, Gift Fic, Post-Game, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold weather is not the only change Fenris and Hawke have to adjust to after they leave Kirkwall for Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barefoot in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilou88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilou88/gifts).



> Written for the 2013 round of Dragon Age Holiday Cheer, to a request for Fenris/Female Mage Hawke.

Snow was falling in Gwaren, perfect flakes drifting down on the still air to land in Hawke's hair, white brilliance glinting against dark brown. Fenris brushed them away, then looked up at the heavy grey skies with a frown. "A storm is coming," he said. "We should get back inside."

Hawke shook her head with a small laugh. "It's just a little snow, Fenris. I'd think you'd never seen it before."

"It does not snow in Minrathous," he reminded her solemnly, "and but rarely in Kirkwall."

"Well, this is Ferelden," Hawke said. "And in Ferelden, if it's not raining, there's a pretty good chance that it's snowing instead. In wintertime, anyway."

Fenris snorted. "And why did we come here again?"

Hawke drew her hand through his arm, resting her fingers on his elbow. "Because, thanks to King Alistair and his support for mages, this might be the safest place in Thedas for me right now." She snuggled up next to him, and he allowed himself to relax, just a little. "And don't forget, Ferelden was my home once. I think it can be again."

"Of course." Fenris tilted his head just enough to rest their cheeks together, to feel the warmth of her smooth skin against his. The air might be cold, but Hawke was warm, and comfortable. Perhaps he could relax his guard, a little.

"Now, shall we take that walk? I expect we'll be in this city for a while, so we should start getting acquainted." She cast him a teasing side-long glance. "Especially with shops that sell heavier cloaks than the one you're wearing. And maybe I can talk you into some shoes."

Fenris stamped his feet against the hard, chilly ground. "A cloak, perhaps, but not the shoes. I will be fine without."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." Then she stepped into the swirling snow, and Fenris followed, scanning the rooftops and streets for threats and pleasures alike.

-x-

"C'mon, just one bite."

"No." Fenris burrowed back underneath the blankets, pulling them up over his chapped lips and reddened nose until only his eyes were showing. It was just enough that Hawke could still feel the full force of his glare. His eyes were red, too, and his voice even huskier than usual. "I don't want it."

"But chicken soup is good for you when you're sick." Hawke stirred the spoon in the bowl and dished up a nice chunk of carrot. She leaned forward in her seat, presenting him with the bite. "Even if you don't think you're hungry."

He fixed her with the death stare for a few moments longer, before consenting to sit up a little more. "Fine," he grumbled. He let his jaw fall open, reminding Hawke so much of a baby bird that she could not help but chuckle. Immediately, he snapped his mouth closed and flopped back against the pillows with such force that Hawke spilled the soup on the blankets. "Hey!"

"Sorry, sorry." Hawke put the spoon back in the bowl and set it aside before picking up a washcloth to sop up a bit of the mess. "But it's your own fault. If you'd just eat it yourself..."

Fenris hitched the blanket more firmly around his shoulders. "If we are apportioning blame, let us talk about who decided it would be a good idea to take a long walk in the snow the other day."

Hawke tossed the soup-dampened cloth to the floor and leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "Hey, you're the one who wouldn't put on that winter cloak, or let me buy you a pair of shoes. And given that you lived in a mansion with _holes in the roof_ for almost seven years, I figured you could stand a little bit of cold."

"That mansion was in Kirkwall," Fenris pointed out. "Not Ferelden. Southern Ferelden, no less, in the-- achoo!" He sneezed again, doubling over, grasping at a handkerchief from the beside table to rub at his nose. "In the winter," he finished, still glaring, though the effect of righteous indignation had been somewhat ruined by the sneeze.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the temple. "You're a big baby when you're sick. I hope you know that." He narrowed his eyes, and she grinned at him. "I'll let you get some sleep. Maybe when you've had some more rest, I can convince you to try the soup. Or let me cast a rejuvenating spell on you." His scowl grew fiercer; somehow, she managed not to laugh again as she tucked the covers around his neck and took the bowl of soup away as she turned to go, pausing to poke at the fireplace, tossing another log on the glowing coals.

"In Tevinter--" Fenris coughed, hard enough that Hawke turned around to make sure he was all right. He waved her off and cleared his throat. "We do not, in Tevinter, eat bland chicken broth when we catch cold. We eat spicy soup, perhaps with chicken, but most importantly hot peppers. They aid in clearing out the system."

"Ah." Hawke glanced into the bowl and considered the rich yellow broth, a staple of her life in Ferelden. Whenever she or the twins had gotten sick, Leandra would throw a chicken in the pot and stew it until it fell apart. Delicious, comforting, perfect for making her feel better. But maybe it was as much the memory of the soup as the soup itself that brought the miracle cure. "I'll have a talk with the innkeeper, see what the cook can do."

"Thank you," Fenris murmured, his eyes falling closed as he lowered his head to the pillow. Hawke left quietly, closing the door behind her. Hot peppers might be hard to come by in Gwaren, but there must be something she could do.

-x-

Two mornings later, Fenris woke feeling considerably better -- the aches gone, his head clear. Hawke had found him a deliciously spicy soup, rich with eggs and shreds of pork, and she had spend the next two days feeding it to him, along with alternating doses of healing herbs and refreshing water. As far as he could tell, she had used no magic, for which he was grateful. He had relented to its usefulness in an emergency, but for everyday illnesses, he preferred to trust his own hardiness and more mundane home remedies.

He sat up and looked around, but the room was empty. Curious -- every other time he had opened his eyes lately, Hawke had been in the room, either dozing in the chair by the fireplace or waking him for his next meal. Cautiously, he swung his feet around the side of the bed and did his best to stand. His legs were weak, but they held his weight. After a quick trip to the chamber pot, he pulled on his armor, slowly, ready to get out of this room and see the sun. Even an overcast sky would do. And he wanted to find Hawke.

Once dressed, he pulled aside the curtains and blinked in the morning light -- it was, indeed, a bright sunny day, the blue sky contrasting with the crisp white snow that blanketed the ground. He checked the wardrobe in the corner to see that Hawke's robe was gone, along with her cloak. The second cloak that she had bought for him hung there, and he pulled it on, along with a bright red scarf that she had left behind. Shoes were another matter. Perhaps they could find a cobbler in town. The purse that held all their coin was still on the table, so it seemed unlikely that Hawke had gone far. He picked out one sovereign and a few silvers for the pouch at his belt, retrieved his sword -- Hawke's staff, too, was gone -- and exited their room.

The parlor was bright and cheerful, with several easy chairs, a roaring fire, and an elderly Mabari hound dozing in the corner. Fenris absently patted the dog between the ears, then went to speak to the innkeeper, who was busying herself with what looked like a fresh pot of tea. He cleared his throat, and she turned around.

"Ah, you're up an' about," she said. "Glad t' see it. Your lady was right worried about you."

"I am feeling much better, thank you," Fenris said. "By any chance, do you know where she is?"

The innkeeper gestured at the door. "Went out to do some marketing, she said. An hour or so ago?"

Fenris's brow furrowed. If Hawke had gone to the market, why leave behind the money but take her staff? But he did not voice his doubts. "Thank you," he said again, and he went out into the brisk winter morning.

It was chilly outside, but not so cold that the cloak didn't provide enough fortification. Fenris took a careful breath of the refreshing air, then let it out with grateful relief. Finally, out of that stuffy sick room. He turned toward the center of town and considered his options. New boots, or looking for Hawke? Hawke could certainly take care of herself. But what if she had stumbled into trouble? Ferelden might, as she had mentioned on their first day here, have more relaxed policies toward apostate mages than many places, but that didn't mean that the common people were any less suspicious, or the templars any less vigilant. If she had gone down the wrong alley with a staff on her back...

Fenris shivered, but not from the cold. That settled it; his top priority was to find Hawke, and ensure her safety in this strange place. He scanned the footprints leaving the inn and found the set he thought most likely to be hers, and he followed them.

They led him toward the docks, and his fears grew with every step. Had someone discovered her magic, and forced her to the templars? Or had she stumbled into a pack of bandits in some hidden alley? Or perhaps Vael's men had finally tracked her down. Plagued by one of these scenes after another, he turned into a narrow street flanked by buildings so tall that the snow cover was minimal, causing him to lose the trail of her footprints. Bouncing on his toes with fear and frustration, he looked around and considered whether he ought to start knocking on doors.

Then a sign hanging off a wall caught his eye, and he let out a sigh. Of course. He walked up the steps to the apothecary and pushed the door open: brushing aside the proprietor and his grumbles, he headed straight for the red curtain that cordoned off the back. And there was Hawke, her hands resting on the forehead of a small girl covered in tiny pustules, and a young woman, presumably the girl's mother, wringing her hands in the corner.

He cleared his throat and Hawke looked up. Without a word, she held up a finger for silence, and he nodded, stepping back to let her work. She returned her full attention to her patient, murmuring the soft words of a spell; her hand glowed blue, then white, and the markings on the girl's face shrunk, leaving her with only traces of a rash. Hawke let the girl go and stepped back. "Better?"

"Better," the girl said with a nod. "It doesn't itch anymore."

"Good." Hawke patted her hand, then turned to the mother, handing her a small pouch. "Give her these herbs tonight and tomorrow, and it should clear up completely. And keep her away from the rashvine. It may not have leaves in the winter, but the stems are still poisonous."

"Yes, of course." The woman traded a few coppers for the packet, then collected her daughter and left with a grateful smile, and a quick nod to Fenris. Then she left, tugging the little girl away from where she stood, staring at Fenris, open-mouthed.

Hawke pulled the curtain shut behind her patients, pausing to turn over a sign, and then she looked Fenris over. "You seem much better," she said.

"I _was_." He crossed his arms and glowered at her. "That was before you vanished, and then I discovered you casting healing spells in an apothecary shop, openly, where anyone can see you."

She smiled, infuriatingly. "Fenris, you know me. I can't just sit around and do nothing, even when doing nothing is as pleasant as watching you sleep. It's either healing or hiring out for mercenary work, and no one turns in the healer."

"You can still say that?" Fenris stared hard into her eyes. "Even after Anders, and all that happened in Kirkwall?"

"Especially after all that happened in Kirkwall." Hawke stepped closer to Fenris, taking his hand. "Because of Kirkwall, things are going to change in Thedas. Maybe not overnight, like Anders wanted. But it's inevitable. And if I can help bring that change, while healing some people and making a little coin along the way... well, why not?"

Fenris scowled. "It's not going to keep me from worrying about you. The images I had in my head: of you being taken by an angry mob, by the templars, shot through the heart by Sebastian Vael..."

"Sebastian won't hurt me," Hawke said, firmly. "That was anger and grief talking. As for the templars, well." She shrugged. "I've lived with that threat all my life. I can take it." She reached for him, stroked his jaw. "But if you can't..."

"I can't lose you." Fenris took her in his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Anything else in the world, I could live without. Not you."

She hugged him back, resting her temple against his. "Then you have to accept that this is who I am. I take risks, I stick my neck out. I can't live in the shadows. Not anymore."

Fenris turned his head to kiss her, to brush his lips firmly over hers and relish the feel of her warmth, her life. He pulled back, staring into her eyes again. "I-- will try," he said.

"Best I can ask for," she said, and kissed him again. "Now, shall we see about finding a more permanent place to live?" She looked down at his feet. "And maybe some shoes."

"You would pick a home where I have to wear shoes," Fenris grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. If this was where Hawke belonged -- and he was certain it was -- then it was where he belonged, too. Shoes and all.


End file.
